


Just Like Old Times

by pricemactavish



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Angst, Drabbles, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:42:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pricemactavish/pseuds/pricemactavish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shot drabbles following the '30 Day OTP Challenge', featuring Soap and Price in various situations over the course of their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood Brothers Till the End

**Author's Note:**

> I'm following the '30 Day OTP Challenge' found here: http://30dayotpchallenge.deviantart.com/journal/30-Day-OTP-Challenge-LIST-325248585
> 
> Of course the pairing these ficlets will focus on is Soap/Price~ :3

**_day 1— Holding Hands_ **

 

The deserted pub in Prague wasn't the first time he held his hand, but it was the last.

Bullets shot through shattered glass, flicking the slivers on his skin, all the noise drowned out as he struggled to hear the gasping words that left Soap's mouth. A gloved hand reached up, covered in blood, gripping his jacket, he met the hold there, wrapping his shaking fingers around the other man's. Soap's grip was frail, in stark contrast to his usual iron, unyielding grasp. His eyes were glazed over, struggling to hold open, there was more than those last three words on his lips, but they stayed there in place. It didn't matter if they were spoken aloud or not, Price could read them, he always could. Words didn't matter, they didn't mean anything when everything was said with the look in his eyes. The despair was blinding, he was helpless to do anything for Soap, but hold on, keeping holding onto him, keep him conscious.

The warmth was gone as fast as it came..the younger man's hand fell out of his own, limply hitting on the wooden table. Everything was muted, so was Soap's heart, so was Price's world.

That was the last time he held his hand.

But it wasn't the first.

It was on a mission, the two of them the only ones awake, keeping watch, younger than ever were and ever would be again, in more ways than the most obvious, swallowing down less than appetizing combat rations in the woods outside their tents.

"This shite is rancid." Soap complained with a groan, forcing himself to ingest the bite of food without lingering too long on the taste.

"Hmm, just be glad you're not eating the 'corned-beef', it's more like corned-tasteless-sponge. Mac and I suffered through 3 days with that load of bollocks." Price retorted dryly, peering over at the Sergeant, cigar in one hand, flimsy plastic container of some sort of stew in the other.

Soap laughed quietly and prodded the oatmeal with his plastic fork, a grimace crossing his features at the unpleasant squelching noise it made. "I don't know, Price, this oatmeal tastes like dirt, seasoned with a hint of dust and mud shite, all that with the texture of something I threw up after a night of cheap whiskey."

"That is precisely why you don't drink cheap whiskey in the first place, Soap." Price scolded lightly over the blaring snoring from Gaz in his tent. He was shocked that their position hadn't been given away yet.

"Aye, good point. But sometimes you get desperate, you know?" Soap said with a shrug of his shoulders, bringing the bag of questionable, damp oats up to his nose for a sniff that looked like he instantly regretted.

A smile tugged on one end of Price's mouth as his eyes followed the younger man's every move, catching each subtle expression. "One should never be so desperate to consume that rubbish."

"Ha, that's how I'm feelin' right about now.." Soap frowned down at the bag of oatmeal and tossed it back into the pack. "I can't eat another bloody bite." He sighed and stretched his arms above his head.

"Want some of this..." Price paused to read the label in the dim light, "Lamb stew, apparently? It's not so bad..." He stuck it out towards the younger soldier so he could take a look at it.

Soap peered inside and his grimace grew. "I - uh, I'm good, Price. All yours."

Price was hoping that he would have taken it off his hands, but now he was left with the bag of garbage stew. He grunted and flung it into the pack next to Soap's, feeling very full all of a sudden.

"All Gaz's is more like, I don't know how he can stand to eat 4 of those in one sitting."

"It's Gaz, what do you expect? We're talking about the man who puts ketchup on everything... _everything_." Soap muttered lowly.

Price glanced over his shoulder to see that Soap had laid down, one hand propped behind his head, the other at his side.

"It'd be pretty beautiful here if we weren't on constant edge waiting for enemy troops to show up any moment..." Soap said, gazing up at the dawn sky, some stars still simmering in the dim expanse, the glow of the lantern illuminating the other man's face, causing Price to more fixated on him and the comforting feeling he felt when he was around the man, rather than the sky.

"It is quite lovely." Price hummed out, his eyes lingering on Soap's relaxed form. When the younger soldier's gaze fell back on him, he snapped his eyes up to the sky, a smirk growing on his features.

Price scooted over a bit and laid down right beside Soap, puffing on his cigar and blowing out, the back of his right hand bumped into Soap's, a small distance between their hands, but a big leap to make the first move.

The Sergeant dared to make the jump, boldly closing the small gap, slipping his fingers through his Captain's, their palms warm and pressed together, a perfect fit.

"You did say we should see more sunrises..." Soap murmured, squeezing his hand around Price's.

Price responded by rubbing circles around the back of Soap's hand. "I don't think I've ever seen one more beautiful.."  
  


That was the first time he held his hand, but it wasn't the time that affected him the most.  


Soap, just like that first time, always had been the one that incited the intimate gesture, pressing his hand into the other man's. After the Gulag, and back at the base in his room, Soap helped remove the split shackles chained to him, his fingers carefully tracing over the bruises the handcuffs left, pressing soft kisses around the band of deep purple on each wrist, before twining his fingers through Price's. A deep affection and sense of familiar safety washed over them, felt for the first time in years.

"Good to have you back, old man." Soap said softly, looking up at Price, the smile on his lips was small, but brilliant, lighting every dark path that had been in his life without Soap there by his side. Soap kept the tight hold on Price's hands, the hands that had seen a million fights, and a thousand more the younger man couldn't bear to imagine from the past couple years.

"Roger that, love." Price replied, the words spoken on the younger man's lips, their foreheads nudged together, followed by a kiss, endless and starved from years of no contact, their hands never broke apart that whole night.  


The memory of their hands locked together is what kept him going in the prison. Even when it was impossible to imagine surviving through another day in that hell hole, focusing on the memory of the pressure of Soap's hand in his own, when he was sat up in the dark cell, leaned on the stone walls, kept him strong, determined. He remembered the touch, the first gentle touch he felt in years, from a man he trusted more than anyone in the world, and loved more than he could ever express with words, and he felt at home. Even if he was in a cell, locked away.  


 

Prague wasn't really the last time he held his hand.

This make-shift hospital was the safest place Nikolai could find, so that was where Soap was taken. Critically injured. Beyond critically. But, somehow, still breathing, pulse still pumping blood through his veins, no matter how dull the beats were.

Price was next to Soap's hospital bed, never leaving his side, sat in an ancient wooden chair that was on the verge of collapsing from years of wear and abuse, much like how he felt after all this time. He kept his hands on his own face, elbows leaned on the mattress, refusing to cover his hands over Soap's, in fear of the empty response he'd receive instead of the loving and impassioned one he knew so well. His eyes swept all over the Scotsman's face, searching for a hint of consciousness. Comatose...4 weeks now. He hadn't seen those ash blue eyes since they were half-lidded in crippling pain, fighting against the black. Hadn't heard his deep brogue since the last three words left his mouth, losing the battle and slipping into this coma. Four weeks since he felt anything but lost.

"You should get some rest, my friend." Nikolai told him quietly, walking into the sheltered room. He looked over at Soap, then to heartbeat monitor, and finally, to Price, his brows pulled down, wrinkles creased on his forehead from worry. "Soap wouldn't want you to spend every second in here, not taking care of yourself."

"I'm taking care of myself just fine. And you don't need to tell me what Soap would want, Nikolai, I knew _..._ know him better than anyone." Price snapped at his friend.

The Russian kept a patient demeanor about him, and patted Price on the shoulder. "Da, I know. But, Price...you need to accept that Soap might not wake up from this...the doctor said he could be-"

"I don't give a damn what the bloody doctor said!" Price shouted, anger and anguish flooding his mind, spiking his heart. He couldn't hear the words repeated, _'He could be this coma for the rest of his life. He...might never wake up._ ' Price couldn't accept that. "Soap is fine, he has to be fine, he'll wake up any day now...he'll come back." His voice turned hushed and desperate, his gaze turned back to the soldier laid on the bed, his shirtless torso bandaged, spots of blood peaking through the white gauze.

Nikolai stared mournfully at his friend, before turning on his heel and leaving the man with his broken lover. He knew how stubborn Price could be, and there was no way he would be leaving Soap's side anytime soon, if ever.

Price didn't notice the man leave, his eyes were burned with tears that never came before, but threatened to spill out now. He moved his hands up, and stroked them across Soap's face, the man's peaceful expression disguising the trauma his body endured.

"Come on, Soap, you're a fighter, I know you can make it out of this. Come back to me, _please_." Price pleaded in a whisper, the exhales of his sharply taken breaths making strands of Soap's mohawk blow gently.

His pleas became more despairing, tears brimming over the edge, his fingers brushed into the hallows under the other man's closed eyes, in a feeble attempt to wake him. His lips pressed onto Soap's motionless mouth once, still nothing. "I'll be here when you wake up, love, I won't leave you." He promised, swallowing thickly and kissing him one last time on the side of his mouth.

The monotonous beeping of the machine was the most significant sound in his world now. The only thing that let him know that Soap was there, alive, and if he was fighting to stay, then so would Price.  


The hours passed slowly, so sometimes he'd read Soap's favorite poems by James Elroy Flecker out loud to him to pass the time. Soap always loved when Price recited his favorites, leaned up on the older man's shoulder, under his arm, dozing off with a fond smile on his face, their hands intertwined, as always.

It was when he got to the last line of 'The Golden Journey to Samarkand' when he heard the slightest rustle of sheets on the bed, miniscule but impactful on his heart. The book fell from his hands and thudded to the floor, in the next second he was there, with gentle hands on Soap's forearms, looking over every detail on the soldier's face, but still not finding any level of consciousness. His heart dropped to the floor too then, crushed, a sharp pain striking through his chest.

"Must be losing my bloody mind.." Price mumbled, his hands froze on the man's muscular forearms for a moment, contemplating, before he skimmed them down, taking Soap's hands in his own. At first, he felt nothing but a flash of buzzing contentment at finally having those hands in his again, but the expected emptiness soon followed at the nonexistent response. He squeezed his hands around Soap's, pressing a kiss to the scarred knuckles, and rested his head on one of Soap's hands, still held in his grasp.

The beeping of the machine and Soap's calm breathing coupled with the warmth of his hand, were lulling him into a dozing state, the only thing keeping him awake was the panic, that maybe the doctor was right, that Nikolai, as much as he didn't want to be, was right as well...that Soap would never recover, that he'd spend the rest of his days sat up in this bed. Was he prepared to deal with the repercussions of that? Could he really stay in this room with a comatose Soap forever? Not when there was a war still raging on, not when Soap would be devastated and angry if he knew Price was wasting his life away here. But how could he leave him? He couldn't. Not when there was still hope. A small hope...but the smallest of hopes is all you needed.

"You'll come back..." He said onto the younger man's arm, his eyes falling closed.

There was a pressure then, soft, barely there, but it was enough to make Price shot up from his half-laying position on the bed, not letting up the grip. He felt the squeeze again, stronger this time, he wasn't imagining it, he saw Soap's right fingers moving, the tip of his thumb ran down Price's.

That was when Soap's eyes fluttered open.

  
They looked unfocused, confused, his hand gripped tighter around Price's, his light blue eyes searched around the shaded room before they landed on Price, a sleepy smile tugged on his lips.

"Soap...Soap!" Price cried out, a wet-eyed smile fell on his features. He jumped out of the chair and moved one of his hands to the side of Soap's face, curling it around the other man's cheek, his smile growing by the second. Even Soap's became radiant despite the weeks of being stuck in an unmoving state.

"Price..." Soap whispered deeply, "You held my hand first."

When Soap's voice hit his ears he laughed, exhilarated. "Took me long enough, eh? But you took your time too.." He removed the hand from Soap's face and wrapped it around with the other one, holding Soap's right hand firmly between both of his own, kissing at the back of it.

"I found you.." Soap breathed out in a hoarse voice, the words breaking, but strong. He brought his hand up weakly and wiped a finger under Price's eye, catching a falling tear with a soft smile. Price laughed again, airily, nuzzling his face on Soap's, pressing a kiss to either side of his cheeks, before pulling away to look at his, at last, conscious lover.

"I never left."


	2. A Little Time Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 2— Cuddling
> 
> /tiny/ bit of background Ghost/Roach here.

_141 Base_  
 _Credenhill, England_  
 _0200 hours_  
 _Can't fucking sleep._  
  


  
Soap sat on the edge of his and Price's bed in the lamp illumined room, scribbling in his field journal. Sleeping. That's what he should be doing, not sitting, wide-eyed and anxious, awake and waiting.  He let out a huffing sigh and tapped his pencil against the paper, itching to write something, anything, to pass the time.

  
  
   _Price and Roach still out on their mission with a few of the other task force soldiers, should have been back at 2300, **Nikolai's never been late before.** **I know**_

  
  
The edging worry in the back of his mind resulted in him pressing down too hard, the lead on the tip snapped off and fell to the wood floor, rolling under the bed, his mouth turned down in a frown, following its decent into the dark depths.  
  
'Well, fuck, so much for that', he thought. Glancing over to the bedside table, he saw his black plated, stainless steel tactical knife, the emerald colored handle striped with ebony and mahogany, a gift from Price, resting there. Many nights, out in combat, he used it as a make-shift pencil sharpener. He was tempted, but now, it seemed like a pointless effort, his mind already filled with troubling thoughts, in too deep to be distracted by mere doodling and scrawling words across the paper wouldn't do much to help at this point.  
  
Soap snapped the journal shut and tossed it to the side table. He lifted himself from the bed, the metal frame creaked loudly in the otherwise silent room. The Scotsman began pacing back and forth in front of the trunk at the end of the bed, his bare feet padded on the floor. He wondered for a moment if rejecting Ghost's offer to watch mindless comedy movies all night was the wisest idea. Even if his friend's barking laughter would have driven him just on the edge of insane, at least it would have taken his mind off Price, his Captain, _his Captain_ , out there without him.  
  
  
Any other day, he'd be fighting right next to him, but, alas, one of them had to be operating as the field commander on the mission and someone had to stay behind to break in the whole new batch of F.N.Gs.  
  
After a long discussion, both of them debating the pros and cons of each option, they decided that it'd be for the best for the older Captain to go with Roach and a couple other specially selected 141 members, while Soap and Ghost would drill the new recruits of Privates, Corporals, and Sergeants in the 141's standard 'hell course'. Five mile run, three separate courses, QCB, breaching. All that with Ghost yelling at them. And, of course, showing off like a complete numpty.  
  
When Roach was gone, Ghost always broke out the 'show-off, short-tempered Simon Riley' with just an edge of bragging prickness. Bit insufferable really, but he didn't mean it. Always talked to the recruits after, joked with them, made them question his sanity, making them not sure what to think. He liked to play up the tough guy act, until Gary Sanderson was around, then he became a bloody love-sick puppy dog.  
  
  
Soap was the opposite when Price was away, quiet and calm, encouraging as he could manage, but still offering the younger soldiers constructive criticism on their tactics and techniques. He appeared that way on the outside at least, or that's how he'd appear to someone who didn't know him well enough. To Ghost, he was 'mopey' and 'whiny', to which he quickly pointed out to the Lieutenant that he saw him sitting on the rec room couch after training, holding onto Roach's red hoodie for dear life, hands straining, half of his skull mask pulled up while pressing his nose into the fabric.  
  
  
That shut him up real quick.  
  
  
  
It'd been a long day. Longest one in a while. Anytime he thought that he was focused on the training and talking with the squad, he'd get a moment alone and every thought would shift to Price. The older captain had no lack of combat experience in all sorts of situations, in leading stealth missions, and this mission was routine, evacuate some civilians, take down tangos in the way. There was no use in fretting.  
  
Price being gone didn't bother him too much during the daylight hours. It was hot earlier, the sun hitting on his neck in the sand course, aviator sunglasses planted on his face, one of Price's black t-shirts certainly not covering his torso. Of course not. The sleeves pushed even further up his biceps as he ran the course along side the younger soldiers, speeding past them with ease, not to show off, but to outrun the persistent ache of missing his lover, his partner. In operating, combat, and life.  
  
Once it was an acceptable hour to turn in, after he shovled down a large serving of meat and vegetables, and turned down Ghost on his movie marathon, he escaped to the privacy and seclusion of his and Price's bedroom. The watch on his wrist read 2130, less than 2 hours and Price should be back. That wasn't too long, well it wouldn't have been if it wasn't for the fact that each second felt like an hour, each minute was a lifetime. The clock cruel and mocking. He ended up cursing at the wristwatch in multiple languages, all the ones he learned from Price, and removed it, dropping it to his side table with a defiant look. Combat boots were kicked off and dropped next to the clothing trunk at the foot of bed. The shower was calling his name and, surely, it would pass some time.  
  
Their room was one of the few with a bathroom right off of it, no luxuries here though. Just a sink, a toilet and a shower, but when it came to life on a military base, this was heaven to Soap. Private and like an oasis. He pulled off Price's black t-shirt from his body, now sweat soaked and covered in dirt, and flung it to the floor, his cargo pants came off next carelessly thrown on top of the shirt. If Price was here, he'd nag about the mess piled in the corner with his hands on his hips, a disapproving look all over his face. The older man was certainly the more organized and tidy of the two of them, it was about the only thing Price ever was picky about when it came to their relationship. Soap, on the other hand, was never short on complaints. Thankfully, Price was a patient man, even seemed to find it endearing, adorable. For whatever reason.  
  
Soap slid the glass door of the shower open and turned the water on,switching it to a hard, jetting spray, and adjusted the temperature, hand feeling under the blasting pressure. Right bellow scolding hot. Exactly how he liked it. He stepped in and, instantly, his whole body slackened, the messaging pressure of the heated water melting away the day's stress on his body, if only it could reach his tense mind. Instead, he settled on squeezing a fair amount of shampoo in his hand and worked it into his sweat and dirt dusted mohawk, he closed his eyes while the cascading water washed away the grime.  
  
Only thing missing now was Price slipping in behind him, kissing and biting at the back of his water drenched neck, indented marks left behind, the steam surrounding them and filling their lungs, his hand slapped on the white tile wall, bracing himself against the hard thrusts. Soap shook his head and dug his fingers into his scalp, his vision dizzying from the fantasy. No, not a fantasy, a memory from last night, just before he left to go on this fucking supposed 'routine' mission. Soap swallowed hard, trying not to think too long on what Price was going through at that very moment, knowing there was nothing he could do from inside the shower.  
  
  
Soap finished up quickly, rinsing and trying to be more gentle on his now raw scrubbed scalp, the shower feeling claustrophobic, yet too empty at the same time. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he returned to their room.  
  
  
  
  
Back at the present time, the room felt stifling. Time on his infuriating watch read 0240. Late. Way too late. All of it on top of the hint of a physical pain, he overdid it on the courses, and now he was paying for it. Muscles aching and burning, actually feeling tired for the first time that whole day. Sleeping, yeah, sure, like that was gonna happen. Still, laying sounding appealing, though the bed was empty and cold without Price in it. His brows pinched together, glaring at the mattress.  
  
  
 _'Nikolai...you better bring them back safe. Bring him back.'_ he thought, biting his lip, as if his friend could somehow hear him. As if it would make a difference at all.  
  
  
He turned off one of the bedside lamps, leaving the room with a dim glow, and then slipped under the covers with a grunt, sore muscles burning. Just as predicted, the bed was glaringly uninviting without the presence of his lover. The usually soft sheet scratched the bare skin it touched. The standard issue black blanket pulled up to his bare shoulders was not nearly as insulating enough, and now he was tossing and turning, noticing how empty the bed feels. Soap shivered, it wasn't the best idea to sleep shirtless tonight, he didn't have Price there to fight the cold. No amount of blankets can replace him.  
  
At least the bed smelt like Price. Rolling onto his stomach and stretching his arms out, Soap began feeling on the deserted bed, callused fingers catching on the fabric. Ah, there. His blind searching left him with one of Price's pillows in his hand, he brought it close to his face, breathing in deep and closing his eyes. The scent eased the nagging worry, eased it, not eradicated it. Anything was an improvement at this point.  
  
Separation. Goddamn separation. That was a state that both of them were used to being in. They were strong, they could deal with it. Five years apart. They spent more time apart than together, it was that fact that made being away from the other harsh and distressing, but he could handle it. They could handle it. No doubt Price was out there all day worrying that some mysteriously placed claymore would find its way to the training course that he was on all day. Soap laughed once, void of humor, in the empty room. He wondered for a moment if Ghost was feeling this pathetically lonely by now too. Of course he was, as much as the bastard would deny it.  
  
The silence was unnerving, he silently prayed for a light rain to start falling. Fetching his mp3 player seemed appealing, but then again, most of his songs were adrenaline inducing, while others were quiet and emotional and would allow his thoughts to veer off again. So he settled on the quiet for who knows how long, he was over checking the watch, it only served as a grim reminder.  
  
  
  
The sound of a soft creak bounced off the walls, his head snapped off the pillow, the glow outside the room revealing the outline of a man, a hat, and broad shoulders slumped wearily. Price. The door was shut quietly, apparently he didn't know Soap was awake.  
  
Soap all but flew out of the bed.  
  
Price knew now.  
  
And so did Soap, for the most part all the troubling thoughts were silent, the first time that day.  
  
"Thank god." Soap breathed out, barely audible, closing the distance between them. Price's jaw looked tight and clenched, but it loosened, his mouth lifted to a soft smile, worn and tired, but there, and all Soap's.  
Soap hesitated for a moment before resting his hands on the side of the older man's arms, instantly the older man visibly relaxed. "Routine mission, eh?"  
  
Price let out a low grunt. "Routine, right, that didn't go as planned.."  
  
"Is everyone alright? You're a little late, Captain..." Soap asked worriedly, rubbing his hands down the other man's arms in soothing motions.  
  
"We're fine, all of us. Got pinned down, that's all. We weren't planning on the snipers and RPGs to show up." Price sounded exhausted, he looked it even more.  
  
"Pinned down?" He furrowed his brows, and scanned his eyes over Price's body, looking for any trace of injuries, there was a bandage wrapped around his right forearm, he looked questioningly up at the older man.  
  
"Knife." Price answered with a roll of his shoulders, cringing a little at the move. "Bastard just grazed me, so I grazed him in the face with the back of my M4 carbine. Roach insisted that I wrap it up and stop the bleeding, for your sake. I tried to tell him it was nothing..." Price trailed off, reaching for the boonie hat on his head and placing it on the clothing trunk.  
  
"Stubborn old man..." Soap mumbled, a slow, warm smile spread over his lips, he lifted Price's forearm and pressed a light kiss on the sloppily wrapped wound, the tension leaving the older man's body with every touch from Soap.  
  
"Look who's talking.. Ghost told me you wouldn't stop running that course until your best record was crushed, even if you almost passed out. ..Soap, really?" Price arched a brow and picked Soap's lowered face with a finger, looking him in the eyes.  
  
"What? All I was trying to do was motivate the new recruits, show 'em how to get shite done in the 141." Soap defended, distracting the older man with a kiss, leaning up to him.  
  
Price nodded tiredly, breaking away from the kiss. "Mmm, I'm sure." He said lowly, giving him a small smile, somewhere between amused and all knowing. "I'll be right back." He excused himself to the bathroom, not before another kiss was pressed to the side of Soap's head, then he removed himself from the younger man's hold and disappeared behind the bathroom door.  
  
When he was out of the room, Soap moved to the closet in their room, reaching up to the top shelf to retrieve the first-aid kit and brought it over to the bed. No doubt Price's cut was worse than he was letting on. Popping the metal top off, he picked out the peroxide, a fresh bandage, and cotton. And just in case, a pair of needle-nose pliers and a sterilized curved needle. As he threaded a suture through the loop and knotted it carefully, the bathroom door opened, he glanced up to see that Price was damp, shirtless now too, and clad only in his boxer-briefs. Soap must have been so enthralled in getting his make-shift medical station set up that he didn't hear the shower running.  
  
"You left a bloody mess on the floor." Price complained with his hands propped on his hips. So predictable.  
  
Soap smirked and gave a short laugh. To anyone else's ears, the older man's dry tone would sound rude and brash, but Soap knew him better, seeing the creasing on the edges of his eyes, telling him he was far from thinking any negative thoughts.  
  
"Told you we need a clothes hamper, but you keep putting it off..." Soap replied, breaking his eyes away from Price's half-naked, fit body to focus on making sure the needle was connected to the thread properly, tugging at it.  
  
"If we got a clothes hamper, you'd toss everything on top of it, instead of inside it." Price countered with a short chuckle, walking into the room and pulling the door to, leaving it slightly ajar.  
  
Soap shrugged. "At least they wouldn't be thrown on the floor though, eh?"  
  
Price's mouth was pressed in a thin line, a blank expression as he considered the other man's words for a moment. "Sure, sure. It's an improvement." Finally, he noticed the arrangement of supplies in front of him, surrounding Soap. "Now what's all this?" Price asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the needle in his lover's hand.  
  
"Come 'ere." Soap nodded at the bed and spoke with a warm smile, in a attempt to coax the older man closer, lead him into a sense of security, there was no need to worry, he was a professional amateur field med at this point, as much as the self declaration was contradicting.  
  
Price let out a loud sigh and slumped on the edge next to Soap, careful not to knock any of the supplies out of place. "This is pointless. Completely pointless."  
  
Soap wasn't even listening, he reached for the bandage on Price's forearm, the only dry spot on him, and unwrapped it, each layer removed revealing more blood. "Tell me how this," Soap started, gesturing to the near three inch wound, "is simply getting 'grazed' by a fucking knife."  
  
Price shifted uncomfortably under Soap's worried, wide-eyed stare.  "It _felt_ like it only grazed me.."  
  
"That's because you're this..unstoppable, indestructible man out on the battlefield, or you like to believe you are...but this proves that you're not." Soap scolded lightly, picking up a cotton ball and pouring a small amount of peroxide on it. "Bloody hell, you should see the doctor, but you won't... So you leave me no choice but to fix you up."  
  
"I'd rather you do it anyways..if I have to suffer through this entirely unnecessary task, it might as well be with you half-naked." Price said devilishly.  
  
Soap let out a small haughty laugh, "Glad you're enjoying the show." He dabbed in the cotton across the wound delicately, making sure to get every surface of the angry looking cut, the peroxide bubbled inside, tickling the older man.  
  
Price eyed the needle, then Soap's hair covered chest, choosing to settle his gaze there instead of the ominous, thin piece of metal. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "Do we really need to go all the way with this?"  
  
"Yep, no point in arguing against it now, love." Soap said, dropping the dirty cotton ball to the bed and picked up the towel, cleaning the last traces of blood.  
  
Price's brows knitted together. "I bet Roach isn't being put through this.."  
  
"Shite, I don't wanna think about what is going on in that room, Price. Also, I bet Roach didn't come back with a huge knife wound." Soap muttered, picking up threaded needle and bringing it to the edge of the gash. "Alright, don't move your arm." He instructed.  
  
"I bloody know, this isn't my first time with a cut.." Price said, giving a flippant, frustrated gesture to the various scars left all over his body.  
  
Soap's eyes flicked to the old, healed marks and bit his lip before looking back to the fresh, cut. "Shh, this is will be over before you know it." With that, he started with the corner of the wound closest to himself and pierced the skin carefully, threading through, and began stitching the irritated wound closed.  He paused when he felt the tense nerves rolling off the older man. "Focus on me, not the needle." Soap said softly, looking Price in the eyes, the other man nodded once in response. His eyes concentrating on Soap's handsome face, the furrow of the man's brow, the fullness of his lips that were held in a focused frown. Price's breathing steadied.  
  
Price, after years of combat, was more than accustomed to pain, and this was nothing. More like a gentle poke, rather than a sharp needle. He still hated the things though and Soap knew why. Years in the Gulag built up a whole new array of hidden and suppressed phobias and fears within the older man..and Soap did everything in his power to avoid triggering any bad memories, but this was, unlike Price had said, necessary.  
  
Soap made quick work of patching Price up, wanting the task to be done with just as much as the other man surely did. He felt Price's eyes on him the entire time, he resisted peeking up and smiling at him or winking at every opportunity. Finally at the end of the cut, he pulled the needle through one last time and made sure it was secure before holding the needle in place and snipping the leftover thread. Price brought the newly stitched up wound to his eyes, examining Soap's expert sewing.  
  
"Huh, would you look at that."  
  
"Wasn't so bad, eh?" Soap asked watching Price, unable to shake the fond smile from his face. He picked up the bandage next to him and brought Price's forearm back onto his lap, wrapping it loosely around the wound.  
  
"Suppose not..."  
  
"There." Soap said, slipping a metal clip on an end of the bandage, keeping it in place. "Good as new."  
  
"Thank you, love.." Price murmured, looking more exhausted than before, a tired smile directed at Soap, soft around the edges.  
  
Soap reached up and ran his fingers through Price's short hair, the older man's eyes fluttering at the gentle touch.  
  
"Anything for you." Soap whispered. Price leaned in, looped his arms around Soap's neck and pressed their noses together. The younger man cradled Price's face in his hands gently before kissing him long and sweet and soft, pulling away only to whisper. "I don't think I want to know what time it is.."  
  
"An ungodly hour, I'm sure." Price answered.

"Ghost can take over training tomorrow, I say you deserve a day off."  
  
Price scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Like I'd be able to sit still, you either."  
  
"Hah, there's that stubbornness again." Soap said running his fingers over the newly bandaged wound. "Well..now what?" On any other night, that question would be laughable. What else would they be doing other than having sex when they finally had some alone time and a perfectly comfortable bed? But this night, or rather, this early morning, was different, both men fatigued, mentally and physically.  
  
"Let's..lay down. The only thing I could use right now, is you." Price said, leaning in and kissing Soap on the tip of his nose.  
  
"You can have me whenever you want me..or need me." Soap reminded Price, smiling up at him and squeezing his hand briefly.  
  
"I always do."  
  
The sudden soft smile Price gives him stops Soap short. His heart skipped a beat, and he cleared his throat. "You go ahead and get in bed, let me put this shite up." Soap said, pressing one last kiss to Price's mouth.  
  
Price raised himself from the end of the bed and didn't hesitate slipping under the covers. "If I never see another needle again, it will be too soon.." He muttered with a groan from the bed, his good arm resting behind his messy-haired head, dark circles prominent under his eyes.  
  
Soap chuckled deep in his chest and collected the medical supplies, shoving them inside the metal case, snapping it closed, and returning it to the closet. Next, the dirty cottons and piece of cloth, disposing them in the waste basket in the bathroom.  
  
When returns to the room, the light is turned off, he thought Price had fallen asleep, he managed to make out in the darkness the older man's chest rising and falling in a calm, steady matter. He paused at the foot of the bed for a moment, frowning, yet endeared. Then, he saw one of Price's eyes open.  
  
"Glad you're enjoying the show." Price's voice spoke, repeating the younger man's earlier words with a dry tone, a smirk playing on his lips.  
  
"I am, but I think I'd like it to get more...hands on." Soap said, low and deep.  
  
"Then get your arse over here..Captain." Price threw back the cover on the left side of the bed, Soap's side, and patted the mattress.  
  
"Aye, aye, Captain." Soap felt every bone, every muscle, every fiber of his being pulling him towards the bed, moving without even thinking, and slipped under the covers. The bed was no longer cold and rough, but comforting and inviting. Not even a second after he was settled, Price was there with strong arms pulling Soap closer, the younger man helped him so he didn't burst a bloody stitch and turned so he was facing Price, their chests hitting together, finally meeting in a warm embrace. The days stresses and worries melting away in the tight hold.  
  
Soap leaned in and kissed Price sleepily on the lips, his eyes falling closed against his control, the older man pushed forward slightly, deepening the kiss and resting a hand on the back of Soap's head, his fingers gingerly running over his mohawk. Soap noticed that he was beginning to doze of in the middle of the kiss from sheer exhaustion. That was a sad thing, too tired to even kiss lazily. Damn.  
  
Soap pulled away, inching his head back just enough he could get a good look at Price's face, despite the darkness, his eyes adjusted enough. "Hmm..we're a pathetic pair, can't even kiss.." He rumbled, the words slurring from his tongue's lack of cooperation. Soap waited for the response...that never came. Price's eyes were closed. Asleep.  
  
The shock of affection that ran through the younger man was sudden and fierce, he wrapped his arms around Price fully, burrowing his head in the man's chest, kissing it once. With a quiet mind and a heart no longer weighed down by anything other than fatigue, he whispered onto his skin, "Good night, old man."


	3. Rage Quit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 — Gaming

A sudden, angry grunt is what stirred Soap from his nap. The short, low growl that followed is what made him rise from his snuggled position on his stomach, nudge Price's pillow out of his arms, and roll over to his back. He rubbed his bleary eyes with the back of his knuckle and blinked the sleep out of them, irritation creasing a row of vertical lines between his scrunched down brows from his well earned nap being interrupted.

  
Well, he was annoyed, but then it clicked in his consciousness that it was a _very_ familiar grunt he was hearing, although in a different tone than he was accustomed to. He glanced to the end of the bed and saw Price seated there, hunched over, holding his phone and cursing an impressive number of profanities under his breath. The back of his neck was reddened from rubbing it too much, a habit Price had when he was extremely put out with something.

  
"Price...? Why're down there?" Soap asked, thick sleep laced in his voice, making it deeper. His clingy level was at an all time high when he was tired, and right now all he wanted to do was pull Price up with him and throw himself on top of the man and sleep for...about another 4 or 5 hours. Or until morning, who cares if it was only mid-afternoon?

  
Price jumped at Soap's voice breaking his concentration, his head snapped to look at Soap, seeing him laid back in the bed, shirtless, still wearing his fatigues on his lower half, and dark circles visible under the man's eyes as he yawned. Price inwardly cursed at himself this time, feeling guilty for waking Soap.

  
"Soap..bollocks..did I wake you up?" Price asked, going in to rub his neck again. If Soap wasn't so tired, he'd have stopped his hand from doing the bad habit.

  
"Sure did." Soap answered through another yawn.

  
"Sorry, love..." Price muttered.

  
"Hmm yeah, itsalright, didn't wanna miss dinner anyways, bloody hungry.." Soap said with a shrug, still laying back on the pillows, picking at his eyes that felt like they could shut again at any moment.

  
"Usually the only thing that can successfully wake you up is a gunshot. Now, when I'm trying to be bloody quiet, a grunt is what gets you moving?" Price asked, baffled, his brows pulled down and mouth held in edging frown. He remembered how much effort he had to put into waking up Soap before he was ready to be in the past. Dark times. But, of course, the one time he wanted to be with Soap when he was sleeping and was trying _not_ to wake him, he does. Angry grunts. He'll have to remember that for next time.

  
"My ears are sensitive to hearing you and all your noises." Soap explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "But they especially pick up on ones of rage..what are you up to anyways that's got you so pissed?" He questioned, sitting up in bed and crossing his legs, not even wanting to know what his hair looked like right now.

  
"Damned Ghost, it's all his fault."

  
When was it not?

  
Soap slapped a hand over half his face, only his scarred eye peeking through, peeved. "What the sodding hell did Riley do now? Do I even want to know?"

  
"He so kindly introduced me to bloody damn Floppy Pigeon."

  
Soap's hand flew from his face and his eyebrows rose high, "What the fuck is a Floppy Pigeon?"

  
"A game sent from the depths of hell, that's what." Price said shortly with a gruff voice.

  
"Let me see.." Soap rose from the bed, grabbing his blue Task Force 141 t-shirt from the bedside table and pulling it over his head as he sat down at the foot of the bed next to Price, peering over at the phone, squinting to get a good look a$t it.

  
"Price...this isn't 'floppy pigeon'...it's Flappy Bird. What the shite.." Soap said, barking out a laugh, all his remaining lethargic feelings from being woken evaporated, amusement taking over.

  
"Who cares about the damned name! It's bloody infuriating!" Price growled out, tossing his phone harshly to the mattress and fiddling with the hat on his head in frustration, a string of more curses and rants whispered under his breath. The Scotsman could make out the words, _"Fucking pigeons"_ , _"I swear, I'm never doing anything that Ghost recommends ever again"_ , _"Bloody bollocks.."_ , _"Toad and Worm's arguments over Lady Gaga and Katy Perry are preferable to this literal hell."_

  
"Why were you playing it anyways?" Soap asked, suppressing his laughter to the best of his abilities and scratching the back of his neck. "Never seen you play any kind of game before..except for role playing in bed, if that counts." He added, nudging his shoulders into the older man's.

  
Price cleared his throat, looking off to the side and smirking at the memories. "Right, I got bored little after you went to sleep, and reading the same bloody novel or watching the squad have another mindless debate over whose taste in music is better while you were sleeping sounded less than appealing, so I wanted to do...something."

  
"And Ghost suggested this?" Soap said, jutting his index finger to the cursed phone, Price shot a hateful glare at it.

  
"Yes. And I regret everything. Like I needed this bloody load of bollocks after leading training all day with this lot." Price growled, waving a raged hand at the door and nearly knocking his hat off his head in the process.

  
Soap would confront Ghost later about putting his boyfriend in mental jeopardy, but first..  
  
"If you wanted to be a gamer, Pri, you should have told me. There are much better things to play than _Floppy Pigeon_." Soap told him, the corners of his lips turned up, Price tried to be annoyed at his lover's teasing, but with the smile that was on his face, it was impossible. Unfairly adorable Scottish man.

  
"Is that so?"

  
"Aye, follow me." Soap said with a twist of his head and a quick kiss on Price's mouth, he stood from the bed and held a hand out for Price to take.

  
"Well...I'd follow you anywhere..let's just hope it won't be into the pits of a jumping feathered hell." Price muttered, taking Soap's hand and lifting off the bed with a little tug from him.

  
"Don't worry, Pri, there's no trace of infuriating demon birds involved in these games, I promise. Come on, to the rec room."

 

  
  
"Get ready to be schooled, old man. I've got the most skills out of all these numpty arses on base." Soap shook the black xbox controller in his right hand and plopped down on the couch, patting the cushion next to him with his free hand.

  
Price scoffed a laugh at Soap and sat down, draping an arm around the back of the couch, around Soap's shoulders.

  
The room was void of all task force members, besides them, only because Price and Soap ordered everyone out..for..business purposes. They more than likely figured the two of them were having sex on the couch and would try to listen in.

  
Bloody gits. If they only knew..they already had sex on that couch last week.

  
The rec room was a simple place, filled with a TV directly in front of the couch, a beaten, overused pool table, a few book cases, and random chairs and a table or two..but it was a getaway, an escape for everyone at 141.  
  
  
Price hadn't spent much time in there, he preferred to be out at the shooting range, or the armory, doing _something_ with himself other than sitting in front of the TV for hours on end. He would peek in the room once in a while, the sight of Soap on the couch surrounded by his friends, a huge grin on his face caused a unabashed flow of happiness in him that he couldn't shake, a smile crossing his own lips at Soap looking so carefree and relaxed.  
  
Soap, on the other hand, spent quite a lot of time in here, his free hours split between the courses and armory with Price and the rec room, challenging every last solder that dared to take on one of their Captains. Roach was the only one who was near to rivaling him, Worm was a close second. But Soap was still undefeated in multi-player.  
  
"First, let me introduce to a real goddamn game, not that bird bouncing shite." Soap said as the game loaded.

  
The cover of the game reviled the title, Call of Duty: Ghosts.

  
" _Ghosts_? Oh I'm sure Ghost loves this game." Price mumbled dryly, placing it back in the pile on the table.

  
"Aye, of course, there's even a bloody dog named Riley in it..ego maniacal bastard loves that even more. Refers to him as his and Roach's baby" Soap said, rolling his eyes.

  
"...I don't doubt that."

  
"You know, he's got this idea in his head that one of the characters, Merrick, looks like our love child or something..anyways, I don't see it. What do you think?" Soap went to mission select, flipping through until he found one that showcased Merrick in the beginning.

  
"Bloody hell..." Price murmed, staring at the screen, at Merrick.

  
"What?" Soap asked, looking from the TV to Price, seeing a wide-eyed, slack jaw expression on his face.

  
"He does."

  
"Come on, Pri, not you too." Soap groaned. "I get it, Merrick is a sexy bastard, with the beard and all...but he doesn't look like our sodding love child."

  
"I don't know, Soap..he really does." Price said with a click of his tongue.

  
"You know what, let me just...we're playing something else." Soap hopped up from the couch and opened the tray, removing the game and snapping it back into its case.

  
"With good looking faces like that in video games, I can see why people are gamers..." Price jested from the couch, a teasing grin on his lips.

  
Soap paused his browsing and shot a glare at him.

  
"Obviously not as gorgeous as you, love." Price clarified, as if it weren't bluntly obvious.

  
"Sure, sure." Soap mumbled, though not truly upset. Good looking faces, eh? So Price was drawn to that aspect...definitely avoiding the Mass Effect games for the time being then, he didn't know why he got a shudder of intense jealously when imaging Price romancing a fictional character in a RPG game.  
Ah, his hands came across the perfect game to play together. He lifted it and flashed the cover to Price.

  
"Left 4 Dead? Zombies, I'm guessing?" Price did a mimicking hand gesture to the front case.

  
"Aye, zombies." Soap popped open the case and inserted the disk, the booming music from the company's logo echoed in the room. "You wanna do co-op or versus?" Soap asked, handing Price the second player controller and seating himself directly next to Price, a little closer than necessary, or not close enough..at all.

  
"Like what, work together or fight against each other, then?" Price asked.

  
"Mhm, you can pick one of the four main characters to play and I'll pick another, then we run around, kill zombies, try not to get killed by said zombies, and make it to an evac. In versus, we take turns being the special infected, there's these huge, fat guys that barf everywhere called Boomers, crazy hooded jumping guys, not to be mistaken for Roach, called Hunters, and this..deformed, wheezing zombie with a long bloody tongue called a Smoker. And Tanks. 'Roided up zombies made of rage with a huge dose of more rage, they're deadly." Soap explained as clearly as he could manage.

  
Price look completely perplexed, contemplating, then his expression flickered, "Versus it is then." He decided, mischievous glint his eyes.

  
"What..you don't wanna work with me?" Soap was a little..upset by that, he wanted to fulfill a secret mental fantasy of his, kick ass and killing zombies with his boyfriend.

  
"Come on, Soap. We do that every day, in every battle, we could use a little..competition.." Price said with a smirk. It's true, they were a team, and always would be...but why not shake it up a bit, in harmless game play?

  
Soap let out a sigh, only a bit of the disappointment showing through, and gave Price a quick tutorial on how to play and use the controls. Price picked up on it in no time, obviously adapted to learning and catching onto things quickly from all his years of service.

  
"Alright, don't think I'm gonna take it easy on ya, doesn't matter if you're my boyfriend or not." Soap warned him with a crooked grin while 'Blood Harvest' loaded. He picked 'Bill', not because of his beard and military past or anything, and Price all but demanded to be a zombie first, the Scotsman never saw such a glimmer of excitement in the older man before at the prospect of ripping people apart in a video game.  
  
  
"I think I can handle it." Price retorted, leaning forward on the couch. Soap frowned at the distance between them now, but figured that's exactly what Price was planning.

  
"Bloody Price." Soap said under his breath, Price didn't seem to notice...unless the tugging on one end of his mouth meant that he did.

  
The game finally loaded, Soap picked up the pump action shotgun and a med pack and walked down the forest trial so Price could spawn as a special infected.

  
"You're going down, Price." Soap taunted.

  
"Hmm, did that this morning, love." Price said in his huskiest voice imaginable, the words hitting Soap out of nowhere, his thoughts quickly becoming consumed with explicit images of them in the empty armory earlier that day, of Price pushing him against the wall and getting down on his knees. The air left Soap's body as if he was punched in the gut by sheer arousal, preoccupying him enough that he didn't notice Price, as a Boomer, come up right next to him and proceed to puke on him and the three other computer players.

  
"Oi! Fuck's sake, Pri, you can't use unfair, sexual tactics to distract me!" Soap shouted in frustration, in more way than one, as countless zombies surrounded his player, beating mercilessly at him, his shoves and M1911 only doing so much damage.

  
"We didn't place any rules here, did we?" Price asked innocently, running his tongue over his bottom lip slowly, with purpose, a clear goal in mind to drive the younger soldier crazy.

  
Soap gripped his controller so hard that it almost snapped in half.  "I can't even...fucking look at you right now, shite." Soap groaned turning away from Price and the filthy thoughts he was giving him.

  
"Good, don't look at me, get your head in the game, soldier." Price scolded jokingly.

  
Oh, he was pushing it.

' _Fuck, probably shouldn't say that one out loud_ ' Soap thought, hoping that he didn't think it loudly enough for Price to pick up on.

  
  
  
Not even 20 minutes later, Soap's health bar was in the lower yellow, desperately trying to outrun Price and his unrelenting, damned nightmare zombie spawns, while also trying to escape the rapid hardening in his pants at every dirty word and innuendo Price shot at him.

  
"Don't be such a sore loser, Soap. I'd rather make you sore from other things later on.." Price said, leering over at Soap.

  
"Fuck, I'm screwed!" Soap cried out as Price, in Tank form, charged at him, swatting him away and into a wall.

  
"Not as much as you're gonna be when this match is through..." Price stated, matter-of-factly, a blatant wink directed at Soap as he flung a car at Soap's player, effectively incapacitating him.

  
"You know what? Fuck this." Soap growled out, tossing the controller to the table and jumping on Price, both of them falling to the floor in a heap, Soap grabbed the back of Price's neck, their lips connected in a messy kiss, all bites and tongue, pent up frustration pouring into every move, Soap began ripping at Price's clothing with a free hand, strewing the articles all about the room, not giving a single fuck. Much to his heated irritation, he could feel Price smirk into the kiss the entire time.  
  
The game was long forgotten.  
  
  
  
  
Later, after both men fell back on the floor, panting, all energy drained from their bodies, Soap mumbled onto Price's chest, "Let's say it's even..."

  
"Fine, but I'm calling a rematch..in the bedroom this time." Price said, once again realizing they were in the task force's rec room floor, naked, in a very compromising position, to say the least.

  
"Uh, yeah, copy..but this time, I'm going down."


End file.
